Simple & Easy
by McGonagall's Bola
Summary: Set during 2.11 Need To Know. If only it were slightly simpler, or easier... because those didn't necessarily mean the same.


It only was a small shake of his head, and she followed him. They both knew where they were going, and they both knew well what was going to happen. There was silence as he moved to the door, watching Stacy's every move as she slid her belongings in her bag, following him to his car and his apartment. No single word was said between them as he drove. There were no sarcastic remarks from him, no rationalizations from her side. She never once mentioned they were not supposed to be doing this, mainly because this right thought never crossed her mind –– or not in that moment, at least.

As Greg drove them through the streets of Princeton on the way to his apartment, she did not look at him once. Stacy just stared quietly at the houses and streets passing by, fully noticing the many changes that had been made in the half-decade she hadn't entered Princeton. There were some more skyscrapers than when she had last left. It wasn't exactly Stacy's interest in the changes in the neighborhood that made her turn her head continuously away from him, though. It was the fact that she didn't trust herself to look at him, fearing they wouldn't make the short way to his apartment anymore if she did. From all the men she had ever dated, House always had been the one who was most perceptive. She really hated that fact, for it meant she could hide nothing from him, but it only fed her addiction to him, drew her to him. The fact House sometimes seemed to know her better than she knew herself was strangely… exhilarating. It meant he must have at least cared enough to take notice, when oftentimes, with Mark and the others she had ever been with, she felt somehow unnoticed, even when intimate with one another, for instance. Mark had never been a very doting lover, but she guessed he was okay. It wasn't that she was getting any after all.

The kiss had meant something, all right. The kiss had elicited a fire deep within her she didn't even know she had anymore, spiked her addiction, made her remember the sex they had had and among those specific moments. It really made her remember that time when they had had dinner off of the main street, when he had pushed her against the gross alley wall after exiting the back door and dragging her a bit away and kissed her so passionately and needy that she had not been able to say no to him taking her right then and there. A small smile came upon her face as she remembered him having to hold a hand over her mouth as not to give their secret position away when other customers left the restaurant. She knew that he didn't particularly mind her responsiveness much, no matter how vocal, though.

She felt her skin tingle at the vague memory of how Greg had always been able to make her feel in whatever moment they had been joined intimately. How long had it been since anyone had touched her or even looked at her with the clear want that had been on Greg's face when he said he didn't want Stacy to leave. Greg's car halted, but she did not look at him or make any move to leave the car when he didn't either. Seconds of silence were followed by three words, spoken in his even and low voice. "You sure?"

He was giving her an option to leave now. He was letting her decide. At last, she turned her head to him and looked into Greg's blue eyes –– the eyes she adored. His pupils were wide, and she did not have to lower her gaze to know that he would be hard for her. She knew this gaze. It had been cast at her too many times and followed by too wonderful sex for her not to. "I'm sure," she whispered, watching his reaction.

The stoic look upon House's face remained absolutely unchanged as he nodded and then moved his head slightly again, not unlike at the hospital earlier today, which had convinced her to follow him to where they were now. He waited for any kind of response from her, and as she realized this, she nodded slightly as well and gave him a small, nervous smile. She didn't know where the nerves were coming from, but they were suddenly there. As he finally managed to rip his gaze away from Stacy and made to leave the car at last, she followed him and pulled at the door handle. He waited by the side of his car for her to round it and extended his hand for her to take when she got nearer to him, pulling her along the steps to his wooden door, fishing for his keys in his pocket with his free hand. He seemed to find them relatively fast, so she didn't have to wait long for him to open the door and drag her over the threshold, throwing the keys on the tiny hallway table before continuing to his bedroom together. Stacy let herself be dragged along, her nerves growing as they got deeper into his apartment.

When the door to the bedroom fell shut behind them with the help of a push of his walking stick, he pushed Stacy against it rather eagerly, cradling her face in his hands and leaning in to kiss her lips with his own, the kiss full of great urgency and slightly bruising. Stacy Warner was glad to go with it and be able to respond in candor, though. The mere fact that neither of them seemed willing to release each other's lips while Stacy's handbag dropped to the carpet by the door and they began to tug at each other's clothes, wasn't very helpful at all. Their breathing grew very labored as individual articles of clothing dropped slowly to the bedroom floor and they slowly, awkwardly pulled away from the closed door and then walked each other to the bed.

It had been a long time since she had felt a man so hard so close. It had been a long time since she had felt Greg like this, but it felt more like… coming home than anything else. When he pulled down her panties and slid them off of her long slender legs, taking away the last scrap of material still between them, and lay down upon her, still kissing her eagerly, she could smell him and taste him like those five years between them had never happened. "You're beautiful," Greg whispered truthfully against the crook of her neck before he rose himself up on his arms, pushing himself further down her body so that he could trail his feathery kisses from her collarbone to the valley between her breasts and her breasts themselves, nuzzling gently between them as if welcoming them back home, or himself. He addressed her left nipple and the pink pimpled skin surrounding it with his mouth and tongue before laying back with a wince, putting his hand on her hip and pulling slightly to indicate she should move on top of him, then guided her head down so his lips could reach hers once more.

Bracing both her hands in the many pillows lying beside his head, he used both his to address her breasts, fondling them. Greg House always had been a breast man, no doubt there in any way, and he had always thought that Stacy's were beyond perfect. They had been five years before, and they still were right now. A quite sharper intake of air from hers told him he might have pulled her nipple too hard just when he wondered whether Mark touched them, too. He knew of many men who went straight for the act so to speak, and when House himself was with some hooker, he mostly was that sort of man as well, but he couldn't not touch her breasts, couldn't not force her to slightly shift her weight and guide her nipples to his mouth again to suck on them repeatedly while continuing to fondle them with his two hands. Stacy's ragged breathing told him she didn't particularly mind, though.

When she grasped him in her hand and leant a little higher on her knees, bringing him quietly in the right position before sinking down on him, House groaned loud, his warm hands immediately reaching for Stacy's hips to encourage her not to wait to move or slowly build the pace like she had often done before their five-year separation. Her level of need was quite as high as his and so she accepted gratefully. She all but fought against him as he threw them over once more and began to piston back and forth inside her when the pace didn't seem to be fast enough to his liking still. When he did so, Greg reached deeper inside her than anyone had in months or even years, in basically any meaning possible. If only it were simple, she thought while wrapping her arms tight about his neck and buried her face in his shoulder, panting heavily –– or easy, because _simple_ didn't mean necessarily _easy_ or the other way around either, she knew.


End file.
